


Thinking Makes It So

by Badwolf36



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotions, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Insomnia, Mental Health Issues, Panic Attacks, Therapist Bones, Therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-26
Updated: 2020-01-26
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:08:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22412269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Badwolf36/pseuds/Badwolf36
Summary: Jim's new therapist is...unconventional to say the least.“Let me guess, I’m not what you were expecting. You’re wondering if I’m actually telling you to clamber into a hammock when you’re wearing a very expensive suit. You’re probably calculating how quickly you can back out of this room when I’m blocking the door and you’re thinking about whether you can get back the money you paid upfront for your preliminary session.”
Relationships: James T. Kirk & Leonard "Bones" McCoy, James T. Kirk/Leonard "Bones" McCoy
Comments: 23
Kudos: 93





	Thinking Makes It So

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the William Shakespeare quote: "There is nothing either good or bad but thinking makes it so."

“Mr. Kirk, you mind if I call you Jim? Go ahead and have a seat on the hammock.”

Jim Kirk adjusted the lapels of his black suit jacket before studying the man in front of him.

Dr. Leonard McCoy was not what he’d been expecting. The doctor was lean, slightly scruffy in hair and beard and sporting a denim shirt, white slacks and brown leather sandals. He also has the most effortless grin Jim had ever seen and his voice, thick with Southern vowels, struck Jim in a way he couldn’t pin down.

McCoy’s office wasn’t what Jim had been expecting either; although, to be fair, most of Jim’s expectations were based on TV shows and movies. There were multiple diplomas on the wall, gold leaf and silver trim gleaming from simple black frames. There were scads of awards that lent support to McCoy’s stellar reputation.

There were also photos of an adorable brunette girl stacked together on a shelf next to a collection of multicolored Koosh balls, which was across from the aforementioned hammock. The rope recliner hovered above a wooden tray of white sand, which sat kitty-corner to an overstuffed black leather chair and matching footstool.

Jim hesitated as he looked at the hammock before he looked back at the doctor.

“Look, Dr. McCoy, I…”

McCoy studied him for a moment.

“Let me guess, I’m not what you were expecting. You’re wondering if I’m actually telling you to clamber into a hammock when you’re wearing a very expensive suit. You’re probably calculating how quickly you can back out of this room when I’m blocking the door and you’re thinking about whether you can get back the money you paid upfront for your preliminary session.”

Jim opened his mouth to say something, protest perhaps, but McCoy continued, “And I reckon that you’re so stressed these days that you can barely breathe, let alone sleep. You’re losing focus, which is affecting your work, but you’re too stubborn to let that happen so you work longer to compensate for the lapses.

“You don’t seem like the type to ask for help, so someone noticed. I’m guessing after something drastic; panic attack seems the most likely. They insisted you get help and they asked someone else who was the best, which is how you got my name. You resisted coming until you had another episode, which is why you rescheduled a few times. And now that you’re here, you can’t quite fathom that I’m capable of helping get you to a better space. You thought you were going to just sit in here for 15 minutes, spin me some story, and I’d write you a prescription to help you sleep.”

Jim thought his jaw might have dropped down at some point during McCoy’s speech, but his entire body felt slack with shock, so it was sort of hard to tell.

“Jim?”

He stuttered a bit as he responded, “Ye…es?”

“Get in the hammock.”

Jim got in the hammock.

McCoy chuckled softly as he crossed the room to take a seat in the leather armchair.

He let Jim settle in for a moment, which Jim struggled to do since his tie felt a bit like it was choking him and his wingtips kept snagging on the holes between the ropes.

“Want to try that again with a few less pieces of clothing?” McCoy offered, and Jim choked for real.

McCoy leant up so Jim could clearly see the grin on his face. “We’ll talk about your sex life in our next session. But ditching the jacket, tie and shoes might make you feel a bit more comfortable.”

“I’m fine,” Jim said. He was so far from fine that Nyota Uhura -- who half the time acted like she would gleefully drive one of her Christian Louboutins through his heart and take over his job while he was still twitching -- had actually insisted on driving him to this appointment.

“Fake it ‘til you make it, huh?” McCoy said, sympathy in his voice.

“Yeah,” Jim found himself agreeing before he’d even thought about it. “Wait! No. That’s not it at all. I’m really fine.”

“But you’re here,” McCoy said easily. “And people who are fine don’t usually end up in my office.”

Jim huffed. “I’m just having a little trouble sleeping, like you said.”

“Having trouble sleeping how?”

Jim tried to sit up in the hammock, which was an awkward movement to do and one he was sure looked even more so. “What?”

McCoy rolled his eyes. “Just what I asked. How are you having trouble sleeping? Can’t get to sleep? Can’t stay asleep? Nightmares? Sleepwalking?”

“Oh,” Jim said. “Insomnia. And, uh, yeah. Sometimes there’s nightmares.”

“What do you do when you can’t get to sleep?”

Jim slumped back into the hammock, unable to maintain his ramrod straight posture when his support was a sling of soft rope. He stared up at the ceiling of McCoy’s office, which was blessedly plain and white. “Just try and get to sleep. Count sheep and all that.”

McCoy snorted. “Sheep?”

Jim let himself smile a little. “Well, I tried cats one time, but they’re impossible to herd.”

That startled a chuckle out of McCoy, a sound that Jim felt himself relaxing to. “That’s certainly the truth. Try to tell a cat what to do and you’ll either be facing a paw full of claws or a big dose of disdain.” His tone shifted a little. “But do the sheep help? The counting?”

Sighing was unavoidable as Jim truthfully answered, “No. Not in the slightest. I just start thinking about the logistics and then I think of work and then I’m trying to force myself to stay in bed because I really do need to sleep, not get up and go to the office at 3:30 in the morning.”

“So I’m guessing you haven’t had a vacation in a long time,” McCoy said. Jim tried to sit up again, only managing this time to set the hammock swaying gently.

“I took a couple hours off for a dentist appointment three months ago, if that counts,” he offered.

There was a strangled sort of noise from McCoy’s direction. “No,” he said finally. “No, a few hours, especially at the dentist, do not count as a vacation.”

Jim shrugged, returning to his study of the ceiling.

“Let’s talk about something different,” McCoy said after a long pause. “Do you do anything for fun, Jim?”

Jim found himself scrambling for something to say, strangely unwilling to give McCoy an even worse impression of him than he was already likely drawing. But he kept coming up with blanks and eventually just said, “Running.”

“Treadmill or outside?”

“Outside mostly.”

“Anything you like about running in particular? Any sort of feeling it gives you?”

Jim mulled that over for a moment.

“Quiet. Even with all the street noise, it’s quiet.”

“Don’t have to talk to anyone, no constant commentary in the back of your head telling you what you should be doing?”

Nodding, Jim said “Yeah.” Then, because he couldn’t stand talking about himself for so long, he asked, “And you? What do you do for fun?”

McCoy huffed softly. “Deflection. Nice. I’ll let it go this time, since this is your initial session. Don’t expect to get away with it again. I take my little girl to the beach and build sandcastles with her.”

“That’s…”

“And I sketch out crude little stick figures of my ex-wife and set them on fire in my trash can.”

“Huh,” Jim said.

McCoy laughed. “What? You expected me to be perfectly well-adjusted? Newsflash, kid, there is not a person on this planet who could listen to other people’s problems all day and not have a few interesting coping methods of their own.”

“That’s…”

“Terrifying?” McCoy offered. “Disturbing?”

“Real,” Jim said. Anything else he might have said, though, was interrupted by the soft noise of a gong.

“And that would be the end of our session,” McCoy said once the sound cut off. He stood up and came to stand above Jim, offering him a hand and a wide grin. Jim took it, barely able to enjoy the warm grasp when he still felt a little bit broken open. “Are you alright? You look a little pale.”

“Fine,” Jim said as he disentangled his wingtips from the rope mesh and swung his legs over the edge of the hammock. It was sort of the truth. He did feel fine, but he also felt very much not-fine.

“I’d like to see you again this week if you’re comfortable, Jim,” McCoy said as he pulled Jim into a standing position. McCoy let his hand go and went to grab a small business card from a crayon drawing-decorated stand on one of the bookshelves. He returned and pressed it into Jim’s hand. “And if it gets really bad, you call me. I’ll charge you later, but I can probably talk you down from a panic attack. I get the feeling you might be a little off-kilter after this.”

Jim found himself, once again, nodding without any real thought. He let his eyes drift to the sand at his feet, digging the toe of one shoe into the white granules.

“Hey, Jim?” McCoy said, and Jim slowly looked up until he was staring into the man’s green-brown eyes.

“Yeah?” he responded, the question a little breathless.

“You’re going to be okay. Really.”

“I don’t think…”

“You should. You will.” He put a hand on Jim’s shoulder and squeezed.

Jim swayed into the touch a little, unable to stop himself. McCoy looked a little surprised, but he left his hand where it was.

“I’m sorry,” Jim said when he realized what he was doing.

McCoy took a deep breath. “Don’t be. And while you’re definitely not wrong here…” The onceover McCoy traced over Jim’s body left him with absolutely no doubt as to whether the sudden lust he was feeling was reciprocated. “Let’s take care of you first.”

Jim took a deep breath of his own. “Okay,” he said. “Okay.”

“You good?” McCoy asked.

Jim took another deep breath, held it for a count of three, then let it whoosh out of his lungs. When he opened his mouth again, it was with an answer. “No. But I think I’m going to be.”

And the smile McCoy graced Jim with gave him the confidence to believe that, one day, that might actually be true.

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a review! I adore reading them!


End file.
